


I've Been a Fool and I Have Been Blind

by DoctorTrekLock



Series: Resolution19 [9]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5 and 1, Getting Together, Jasper is a good friend, M/M, Oblivious!Phil, Phil attempts dating, author desperately wants to take another nap, author has some tea comes back and adds a few more tags and an endnote, background Jasper Sitwell/Melinda May, but author is sick and author is tired, it doesn't quite fit the prompt i know, sorry - Freeform, they do start dating though!, they don't actually get married here guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 09:17:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17864636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorTrekLock/pseuds/DoctorTrekLock
Summary: "You need to get out more," Nick informed him flatly.Phil scowled. A little. With a twitch of his right eyebrow. "Just because I leave the office before 8 once or twice a quarter does not mean I have time to date," he told his best friend flatly.Nick blinked his eye once, attempting to make it look casual, but Phil knew he was surprised. "When was the last time you got laid, Cheese?"Phil's entire face scowled this time. "None of your damn business, Marcus."





	I've Been a Fool and I Have Been Blind

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Jewels In Your Pocket](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9721793) by [AdamantSteve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdamantSteve/pseuds/AdamantSteve). 
  * Inspired by [okay, cupid.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1177875) by [orange_crushed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orange_crushed/pseuds/orange_crushed). 



> Prompt: Phil goes on five dates...and marries the man of his dreams  
> Source: summary of "Jewels in Your Pocket" by AdamantSteve  
> Title: "Shake it Off" by Florence + the Machine
> 
> Originally posted February 20, 2019 on [Tumblr](http://doctortreklock.tumblr.com/post/182940731667/ive-been-a-fool-and-i-have-been-blind-february)

"You need to get out more," Nick informed him flatly.

Phil scowled. A little. With a twitch of his right eyebrow. "Just because I leave the office before 8 once or twice a quarter does not mean I have time to date," he told his best friend flatly.

Nick blinked his eye once, attempting to make it look casual, but Phil knew he was surprised. "When was the last time you got laid, Cheese?"

Phil's entire face scowled this time. "None of your damn business, Marcus."

Fury whistled. "A while then."

Phil huffed out a breath and settled back into the chair across from the Director's desk. "I need a drink," he admitted, loosening the knot of his tie an imperceptible amount. He paused, then loosened it several inches more.

Nick frowned in concern and pulled a bottle of scotch and a pair of glasses out of the bottom right drawer of his desk. He poured them both a finger, then - when Phil's eyebrow glared balefully at him - added two more to the senior agent's glass. He slid it across the desk towards Phil. "You need a date," he countered.

Phil snorted and snatched the glass from the edge of the desk before draining half of it in one go and sighing deeply as he relaxed further into the recesses of the chair. "And where do you suppose I go about finding one of those?" he asked. His tone was flippant and casual, but he kept his gaze fixed on the amber liquid he swirled in the glass.

Nick retreated back into his own chair and sipped his scotch before humming in consideration. "You could go somewhere new and see who you find there," he offered.

Phil's mouth twisted. "And where am I going to find the time to go to new places?" he snapped. "Barton and I have a mission in Chile tomorrow."

Fury smiled enigmatically. "I'm sure you'll think of something," he drawled.

\--

The "new places" thing Nick had come up with had absolutely not worked.

Phil had ventured to a new coffee shop the next morning and had doggedly attempted to "see who he found there." What he'd found were co-eds, failed screenwriters, and a hoard of busy businesspeople, none of whom gave more than a passing glance to a balding, middle-aged man in a suit.

There had been one woman there who had given him the half-interested once-over that had defined his social life to date. His dating history skewed male, but he had dated one or two women before (he considered himself a solid Kinsey 5), so that wasn't necessarily a deal-breaker. He had smiled and she had blinked, then returned it. He had flirted and she had responded and he had asked if she wanted to get a drink sometime. She had looked at him appraisingly and had agreed and they had set a time for drinks three days later. Phil had made his excuses and hurried back to HQ so he could get on a plane to South America.

Evac had been scheduled for thirty-six hours after they arrived in Chile. Phil's drinks date with Susan had been scheduled for seventy-four hours after they arrived in Chile.

Thirty-nine hours after they arrived in Chile, Phil successfully rescued himself and his bleeding sniper from the clutches of the local cartel. Forty-three hours after they arrived in Chile, they finally made it to the secondary evac point. At fifty-seven hours, Clint was safely ensconced in medical. At fifty-eight hours, Phil settled himself, his work tablet, and his book next to his agent's bedside for the long-haul. At fifty-nine hours, Phil started enumerating to his unconscious agent all the reasons why a, Phil had never been to South America, and b, why Phil would never go to South America again, complete with addendum c, why Clint would never be allowed to return to South America on his watch. At sixty-one hours, Clint woke up from his medically drugged sleep and shot a sleepy smile at his handler before falling unconscious again. At sixty-five hours, Clint woke up again and told Phil that he needed to go lay down before he fell down and get some honest-to-god sleep. At sixty-six hours, Phil flopped down on the couch in his office and fell instantly asleep.

Seventy-eight hours after they arrived in Chile, Phil blinked himself awake, yawned drowsily, checked the time on his phone, groaned in realization, and gave up on the whole date as a bad idea.

\--

But now that Nick had gotten the idea of dating stuck in his head again, Phil found it was remarkably difficult to shake loose. Every time he thought about it, though, it got more and more terrifying.

"Do you know how many people there are in New York?" Phil demanded. "How are you supposed to find someone it might work out with from a pool of 8.6 million? And that's just limiting it to one city! There is a literal _world_ of possibilities."

Jasper ignored him and poked around in his cheesy fries for the one with the most bacon on it.

"I'm serious," Phil told him, kicking him lightly under the table. "Jasper."

His friend sighed and abandoned his quest. "Phil, most of the people in New York are too old, too young, seriously taken, or not attracted to your gender," he explained flatly. "Your eligible dating pool is much smaller than you think."

Phil groaned and buried his face in his hands. Jasper selected the nearest fry with at least two pieces of bacon on it. With the rate Phil was going, they would all be cold before he got a chance to finish if he persisted in sorting through them.

Before his friend could have the uncharacteristic meltdown that Jasper could see brewing (and that would subsequently ruin his chances for even semi-warm fries), he tossed out a suggestion. "Try finding someone you have something in common with and start there."

"Maybe," Phil said, his voice muffled by his hands. Jasper shrugged and ate another fry.

\--

His name was Marco, and he owned a complete run of 1975-78 "Captain America's Howling Commandos" kids magazines, complete with tear-out trading cards.

They had met once briefly at a convention in '07 and had frequented the same forums for a decade. Phil had first noticed Marco when he had written a long, well-annotated post about Peggy Carter's role in the formation of modern intelligence agencies and had cited three of Phil's own posts on the subject. One comment led to another and the two had kept up an amicable, if casual, relationship since. It wasn't more than a half-dozen conversations a year about collectibles that popped up on the market and the rudeness of some of the new Cap fans, but it was some form of human interaction outside of work.

Phil had carefully considered Jasper's words, and had brought up the idea of coffee with Marco. The other man had seemed open to the idea, so the conversation had proceeded to planning. Marco consistently had time Tuesday mornings and Thursday evenings, but Phil was usually on the practice range with Clint Tuesday mornings and they usually watched new episodes of Dog Cops Thursday nights. Marco had some time next week, but Strike Team Delta was going to be in Pakistan. Phil could have an evening two weeks after that, but Marco had a work conference.

After two months of conflicting schedules and last-minute cancellations, they quietly and mutually agreed that it was best to just ignore the whole thing.

\--

Melinda had no patience for any of Phil's whining today.

She rarely had patience for complaints from anyone except, on occasion, her boyfriend, but dear gods in heaven Phil Coulson was not usually this irritating.

After the fourth time she put him flat on the mat in fifteen minutes, she gave up on any hope of a good workout today.

"Try dating someone with a schedule as weird as yours," she snapped as she stalked out of the room, leaving Phil wincing on the mat behind her.

\--

Chris was an FBI agent.

Phil's work was focused on international threats, with the occasional homegrown mad scientist. The FBI's jurisdiction was strictly domestic, which meant there wasn't much chance of conflict there. Between their schedules, the pair had only been on three dates in five months, but Phil still thought it was going well. Chris knew how to handle a firearm and one of their dates had been at a gun range, where Phil had shown off his aim with a sniper rifle and his date had shot increasingly tighter clusters of bullet holes into paper targets.

Chris was just beginning to break in a new promotion when Phil got called in to take care of an 084 in South Dakota. Chris had the same instructions and Phil didn't hesitate to go toe-to-toe with his datemate and ruthlessly exclude them and their team from the site with nothing more than a coolly raised eyebrow and a smug smirk.

Phil didn't hear from Chris again after that.

\--

"Well," Maria said thoughtfully, sipping her coffee. "I think I know where you went wrong there."

"Please tell me," Phil said, staring morosely at his coffee mug. "I thought it was going well."

Maria snorted at that. "C'mon, Phil. Just because it hadn't been a train wreck didn't mean it was going well."

"I was having fun. I thought they were having fun." The coffee was still vaguely steaming. Phil wondered how hot it was.

She shook her head and pursed her lips at him. "How many dates did the two of you even go on?"

"Three," he said defiantly. It was more consecutive dates than he'd had with anyone since college. "One dinner, one movie, and one trip to a gun range."

"A gun range," she echoed.

"Yeah. Clint was showing me the--"

"I'm going to stop you right there," she interrupted him. "Did Chris actually want to go shooting?"

Phil frowned. "They weren't opposed to the idea."

She sighed. "Phil...maybe you need to be looking a little closer to home."

Now he was just confused. "Where? Like Manhattan?"

"Like SHIELD," she said pointedly.

Phil considered the idea. "Maybe. I'm pretty sure inter-agency cooperation is a myth, anyway."

He sipped his coffee. It was cold.

\--

Phil carefully considered Maria's advice.

The problem with dating inside of SHIELD was that he was a senior agent with level 7 security clearance. There were perhaps a dozen people he could date without there being any potential for conflicts of interest or coercion. Noah Petersen was the head of SHIELD's financial division, overseeing budgeting, HR, and office management.

He was also gay.

It was late on a Friday when he knocked on Petersen's office door.

Petersen took one look at him and said "You better be here about next quarter's projected budgetary deficit, Coulson."

"Actually," Phil started smoothly, "I'm here to ask you to dinner."

"No," he said flatly, then went back to reading through the open file on his desk again.

Phil blinked. "May I ask why not?"

Petersen looked at Phil, sighed heavily, and rubbed the bridge of his nose before waving Phil in. "Let me explain something to you, Coulson. I have worked too hard to get where I am to play second fiddle to anyone. I won't date someone who's hung up on someone else, and trust me," he leveled a knowing look at Phil over his glasses, "you don't actually want me anyway."

"Chris and I weren't--"

But Petersen was waving off his excuse. "I'm not talking about you screwing so-and-so at the FBI," he said.

Phil was lost. "Then I have no idea what you're talking about."

Petersen just looked at him with pity. "You really don't, do you. You poor bastard." He shook his head and pushed his glasses back up his nose. "Unfortunately for you, I really don’t have time for this. Now if you'll excuse me, I have the next eighteen months of SHIELD's budget to completely overhaul. Again."

As Phil neared the door, Petersen glanced at him again. "Call if you magically find 3.8 billion dollars."

Phil just nodded and left.

\--

Phil was still very confused when he arrived back at his own office.

When he unlocked his door, he found Natasha standing in the middle of his office next to his desk, her arms casually crossed. "That didn't go well," she told him, as if he didn't already know that.

Phil didn't bother asking how she knew what had happened in Petersen's office. She always knew. Though usually when she turned up in his office with obscure knowledge that could only have been gathered by eavesdropping in ventilation ducts, she had Clint in tow. The archer was nowhere to be seen now. Phil frowned slightly at that. He hadn't seen Clint in a while, actually.

"I am aware of that," he told her tersely as he walked around her to sit at his desk, beginning to mentally sort through the files he could take home for the weekend's entertainment.

She didn't reply and he looked up to find her appraising him with one manicured eyebrow slightly raised.

"What?" he asked her defensively.

She put her palms flat on the edge of his desk and leaned down so her face was six inches from her own. She stared coolly at him. He stared blankly back at her.

"Maybe you should try looking closer to home," she told him pointedly, pushing herself vertical again and turning to slink out the door.

"Maria already suggested that," he told her quickly.

Natasha looked back with a sly smile. "Hence Noah Petersen, I take it." She tilted her head, then turned to look him fully in the eye. "Find someone who knows you, Phil. Someone who makes you laugh and knows you inside and out, all the good parts and bad."

Her eyebrows seemed to be trying to communicate some idea to him, but he had absolutely no clue what it could be. He felt like Natasha's meaning was going so far over his head she might as well be having a conversation with the ceiling, but then he usually felt like that when talking to her.

She was searching his face for something, and she must have found it, because she smiled her enigmatic Black Widow smile and vanished through the door.

\--

Clint and Jasper were having a late dinner in the caf when Phil found them. He'd spent half an hour staring at the narrow strip of wall above his door and wracking his brains for what Natasha's eyebrows had been trying to tell him. He thought he might have some semblance of an idea.

"Hey, Phil," Clint brightened when he saw him, putting his fork down on his near-empty dessert plate.

"Hey, Clint," Phil replied warmly. "Hey, Jas." He took a seat next to Clint, their shoulders bumping companionably. "What are you guys up to?"

"Barton's telling me about Brussels."

Phil smiled at the memory. "With or without the lemur?"

"Without," Clint said. "We'd be here til next week if I included the lemur."

Phil hummed in agreement, then turned his attention to why he was here. "Jasper, would you--"

"Not a problem," he said cheerfully, standing up with his tray. "I'll be out of your hair in a jiffy."

Phil frowned blankly at him. "Why would I want you to do that? I wanted to ask if you'd consider going on a date with me."

Next to him, Clint froze in the stillness that only a sniper can reach.

Jasper gaped at him. "If I would-- Okay, even if Melinda wouldn't kill me, the answer's still probably not."

Phil squinted at him in confusion. "Melinda?"

"Yes," Jasper said slowly. "Melinda May, my girlfriend."

"When did you start dating Melinda?" Clint rasped next to him in a poor facsimile of his usual energy.

"Seven months ago," Jasper said, but Phil wasn't paying attention. He was looking at Clint in concern, noting the paleness of his face.

"Are you alright, Clint?" he asked in an undertone.

Clint nodded. "I'm fine," he said quietly.

"Phil." Jasper eyed him shrewdly. "Why did you ask me out?"

"I--" Phil reluctantly allowed his attention to be drawn away from Clint. "Everyone's been giving me dating advice. Natasha just told me to find someone who knows me well, and you've been one of my closest friends since Academy."

He could almost see Jasper internally rolling his eyes and letting out a huge sigh. As it was, the other agent closed his eyes for a brief moment before zeroing in on Phil. "Let me tell you something, Phil Coulson," Jasper began, slamming his tray back down on the table and looming in Phil's direction, an unconscious mimicry of Natasha's pose less than an hour before. "You are an idiot."

At this point, Phil was convinced he had absolutely no evidence to the contrary.

"You are," Jasper continued, "without a doubt the most stupid man I have ever had the pleasure to watch sabotage his own love life."

Phil thought that might be going a little far.

"Finding someone to date isn't actually that hard. All you do is look at the people you know. Find someone who knows you so well, they can pick up on your signals from three-quarters of a mile away in the rain."

"Jasper," Clint said softly.

Jasper ignored him. "Find someone who makes you laugh so hard you start chuckling over live comms."

"Jasper," Clint warned louder.

Phil watched Jasper with wide eyes, his brain kicking into high gear as he tried to parse what his friend was telling him.

"Find someone who can do one little thing and make you so happy the junior agents get nervous."

"Please," Clint said.

Phil thought about perfectly completed files in his inbox after every mission, no matter how bad it had been. He thought about waking in medical to a friendly face every time he was injured. He thought about spending the whole day whistling and sending baby agents fleeing before him when Clint first called him "Sir."

"Find someone who you love spending time with so much that they fill up all the blank spots in your calendar before you even noticed they were there."

Phil thought about lessons with sniper rifles and nights watching Dog Cops. He thought about lazy afternoons in his office talking about everything and nothing. He thought about downtime on missions spent wandering foreign cities and staring at cloudless night skies.

"I can't--" Clint broke off.

"Find someone who's so beautiful that when you look at them, you feel like you're staring at the sun."

"Jas," Clint tried again.

Phil thought about strong hands with knobby knuckles and long graceful fingers. He thought about lean athleticism better suited to gymnastics than brawling, but brilliant at both. He thought about the poetry of an archery shot that never missed.

"Find someone who trusts you enough to give you the most painful parts of themselves."

Phil thought about stories of lion tamers and elephants. About orphans and foster homes. About the way seeing a child's face through a sniper scope can change a life forever.

"Don't," Clint told Jasper, almost pleading.

Jasper wasn't swayed. He stared at Phil. "Find someone who cares enough to let you go."

Phil thought about flying to Chile and telling Clint he was thinking about dating again. He thought about never finding Clint when he wanted dating advice. He thought about all the people he'd tried to connect with and how none of them worked out and how Clint seemed to be a common factor in all of them.

"Please," Clint breathed. Phil wasn't sure who he was talking to anymore.

"Find someone who loves you exactly as you are, idiot and all."

"Oh," Phil whispered in sudden, breathtaking realization, and thought about love.

He thought about grey-hazel-blue-green eyes and fresh cups of coffee on his desk. He thought about blood on the floor of a cartel's cell and the subsequent blood that had stained his hands. He thought about trusting an archer enough to feel fletching on his cheek from a half-mile shot.

He thought about three years of tracking and six months of training and seven years of working together. He thought about "trust me" and fifteen hours of silence and a Russian assassin brought in from the cold. He thought about the possibility of someone else asking before he did and the immediate, fierce jealousy that bubbled up.

In short, Phil thought about Clint.

The sniper next to him was still and quiet. Not the heartbreaking stillness of before, right after Phil had asked Jasper out - oh Jasper was right, Phil was such an idiot - but an inward quiet with hunched shoulders and a dipped head, his hands loose in his lap.

He was still breathtaking.

Phil's hands were trembling, but he reached one out and gently touched Clint's arm. The muscles twitched under his fingers, but Clint didn't pull away. Phil slowly trailed his fingers down Clint's arm until he reached his hand. He carefully slipped his fingers across Clint's palm, holding his hand. The archer's hand tightened quickly around his own and Phil could feel Clint take in a deep, shuttering breath.

He squeezed Clint's fingers a little tighter, and Clint leaned into his shoulder.

"Clint." Phil's mouth was dry. "Clint, will you--"

"Yes," Clint rasped.

"My work here is done," Jasper said, brushing his hands off. His loud voice was a jarring contrast to the thin, fragile moment that had built between them. "Ciao!" He picked up his tray again and sauntered away from the table, one hand raised in a jaunty farewell.

Neither man watched him go, both focused on the ball of warmth in the pit of their stomach and the feel of a hand in their own.

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: Well I didn't take a nap, but I had some soup and some tea and I feel better now, so there's a few things I should probably add.
> 
> I absolutely adore Mikey's [A Bureaucratic Nightmare](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1270534/chapters/2624716) with BAMF!SHIELD!accountant!Phil, so I had to throw Noah Petersen in there as my own little homage.
> 
> This absolutely does not (quite) fit the prompt. I wrote this fic in about 4 hours Saturday night with the vague intent of writing something else as a proper Res19. However, I've been busy at work and have gotten a cold (which I promptly and dramatically declared to be the end of the world), so nothing else got written. This fic was inspired by AdamantSteve's summary, however, so I'm going to leave it as a stretch, but a Res19 all the same. (The rules are arbitrary and I am the only one holding me accountable anyway, so I guess it works out.)
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


End file.
